


And So I Stand Before You

by Witchy1ness



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Some Swearing, Yondad fluff, emotions and caring are not weaknesses, fix-it fic because damn it did they have to kill him?!, parental karma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:39:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: If Gamora can survive space exposure than so can Yondu. Basically me jumping on the fix-it bandwagon for the end of Guardians Vol. 2. Feels ahead!





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my August contribution. Oops. 
> 
> All recognizable characters and settings are the property of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios, and/or Disney. I'm just borrowing them :)
> 
> Written in 2017.
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.

_“I mean, when the world comes for your children, with the knives out, it's your job to stand in the way.”_  
**― Joe Hill**

 

Yondu Udonta was not an idiot. 

Idiots didn’t make Ravager Captain, never mind remain so for twenty-six years of exile. Granted, his continuing status was more dependent on striking fear into the hearts and oftentimes dim-witted brains of those who followed him than mental prowess, but Yondu had bitterly learned such skills in the first couple decades of his life. 

He’d also learned to be a wicked fighter, something it only took a few Ravagers beaten to death to get across. Yondu had picked up tactics and strategy from the Kree along with all his scars, and although fine battle complexities were rather lost on the average Ravager, they could at least appreciate his plans when they worked to their benefit. 

He’d learned a lot after being freed; not the least of which was how to take responsibility for his own actions. There were no more Kree overlords to point the finger at to blame for what he chose to do. Regrettably, the skill – and realization of the necessity of – of considering long-term consequences before taking action was late in developing, not fully solidifying until after he’d picked up a pain-in-the-ass Terran child and been exiled as a result. 

But even then, Yondu had counted on the Ravager mindset to cover his fuck-up. While obedience to the Code was first and foremost, obedience to your captain was a close second. That second tenet held true even if your captain had done something phenomenally stupid and gotten the lot of you exiled from the rest of the Corps. 

Which is why, though they grumbled and bitched and complained, the rest of the _Eclector_ ’s crew hadn’t done more to take their anger out on the kid aside from roughing him up from time-to-time – when they could catch him. 

For twenty-six years Yondu had leaned on a combination of threats, intimidation, bribes, and outright murder to keep his crew in line, all the while watching as his once decent crew – for Ravagers, anyway – began to slowly be replaced with beings that may charitably have been called ‘bottom-feeding scum.’ 

The types of beings who were more of the ‘might makes right, and we’ll kill anyone who disagrees or gets in our way’ mindset. Not a bad mindset to have, given their way of life, but professional suicide when they blatantly decide to disregard what a bad _fucking_ idea it would be to bring the goddamned Nova Corps down on their heads.

The irony in taking them out with their own philosophy is not lost on Yondu. 

It’s at this point that Yondu realizes he almost has nothing left - his family is gone, having exiled him over a quarter of a century ago and without a word since; his crew is gone, but he’s been slipping in their regard for so long it doesn’t hurt as much as he expects it to; his ship is gone, and that almost hurts more, because at least the _Eclector_ ’s never let him down. 

Kraglin’s still here, but Yondu’s so torn between gratitude – not that he’d admit it – and anger and a bunch of other emotions he doesn’t want to deal with that he’s not sure _how_ to feel about his second-in-command. 

The bond he’s made with Rocket (and Groot, he supposes) - though he’s really only known them for about seven hundred jumps and a bit - reminds him again of how his crew _used_ to be, and there’s a funny feeling in his chest about that that Yondu refuses to examine too closely. 

It isn’t until Rocket tells him he’s only got one jetpack and one suit that Yondu allows himself to think of the one thing he _does_ have left: his boy. 

And it’s not even a question of what he needs to do, just _please let me get there in time_ , and he’s body-slamming Quill out of danger (and why the _fuck_ was the stupid kid just _kneeling_ there?!) and they’re rocketing through the atmosphere and where the _hell_ is Kraglin and that damn M-ship and the jetpack is sputtering and he's saying goodbye and Peter’s screaming as he realizes what’s happening –

And then there’s pain and agony and everything just sort of……fades out.


	2. The Beginning

And then, quite inexplicably, everything fades back in.

His hearing is the first to come back. Yondu can tell there’s at least three people talking, but he can’t quite discern the words or identify the voices before they move off.

Then his sense of smell kicks in and he recognizes the blend of metal, oil and recycled air that signifies ‘ship,’ with an added dash of harsh disinfectant that specifies ‘medical centre.’ 

Then he realizes he _hurts_ ; his skin feels like he’s been beaten with a meat-tenderizer and pan-fried, and his mouth and throat feel like he gave a cactus a blowjob. Even breathing hurts, which is when Yondu finally accepts that he’s alive. 

_Fuck._

So much for his grand final gesture. 

_Peter._

He tries to move and only manages to twitch, but even that is enough to induce a cavalcade of new realizations. There’s a mask over the lower half of his face and he can feel the pricks of equipment hooked up to various bits of his anatomy; his left hand is suspiciously warmer than his right; he’s covered in bandages and in some sort of bed with a flimsy sheet on top; and he’s bare-ass naked under said sheet.

 _Kree take fucking med-centres and clothes-stealing-_

“Yondu?”

The scratchy-sounding voice that interrupts his internal monologue sets his heart racing even as it acts like a blaster bolt to the brain. It’s an exhausting effort, but eventually Yondu manages to dislodge the planets resting on his eyelids – _damn it all, bad choice a’ words_ – and peel his eyes open, only to immediately slam them shut again as light daggers seem to pierce his skull. 

He can’t even summon enough wit to mentally curse, and immediately regrets the involuntary growl that is ripped from his throat. But even with his eyes scrunched shut he can tell when the room darkens, and Yondu slowly opens them again, though it’s even harder the second time. 

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when the first thing he sees is Peter, the vice around his heart that he hadn’t realized was there eases its grip. 

“Hey old man,” Quill says quietly, and the Centuarian’s first instinct is to tell him he looks like shit, but the redness around the boy’s eyes kills any inclination. Yondu tosses his head, feebly trying to get the damned mask off his face so he can talk, and when that doesn’t work tries to take it off. Only his arm doesn’t seem to be listening and instead just flops weakly beside him. 

“Gotta keep that on still, Yondu. Can’t remember what the doc called it, but you’re breathing in stuff that’s helpin’ heal your lungs _from nearly dyin’ in space!_ ” Quill’s voice gets progressively louder, breaking on the word ‘dying.’

_Hell._

And this was what the whole grand gesture was supposed to let him avoid – a sentimental Quill, because apparently even growing up among Ravagers isn’t enough to hammer all the _feelings_ out of the boy. 

Yondu tries to speak but fails, though he soon realizes it doesn’t matter as Quill’s too busy ranting to listen.

“What the _hell_ were ya thinkin’?! Ya nearly _died_ , Yondu!”

His boy’s upset enough that he’s slipped back into Ravager speech patterns and is waving his hand around agitatedly, and there’s something off about that but Yondu’s too busy trying to keep up with the rush of words to figure it out.

“Shit, you _did_ die! Your heart stopped _twice_! And that was even with Kraglin findin’ us so quickly! And if Stakar hadn’t-a shown up when he did I’d’ve been watching your funeral instead right now!”

Peter chokes and abruptly deflates, slumping back down from his half-risen state and bringing his left hand down to clench around Yondu’s hand that he’s apparently been holding this entire time – and oh, so that’s what that was. 

Yondu’s pretty sure there was something Peter said that he should pay attention to, but it’s a massive effort just to keep his eyes open and on his boy. 

Peter continues to shrink, broad shoulders hunching forward as he presses the back of the Centaurian’s hand against his forehead. Yondu can feel wetness on his skin, and he realizes that while he’s seen Peter scared before, this is probably the first time he’s seen his boy this terrified. And the fact that Peter feels that way because he nearly lost Yondu terrifies _him_. 

Normally, such displays of emotion are dealt with a gruff cuff to the side of the head – if not outright avoidance – while simultaneously throttling any semblance of guilt, but this time the Centaurian boots the tough-love out the airlock. His other arm finally gets its shit together and listens, though it lands a little harder on Peter’s head than he’d meant it to. 

Peter jerks his head up – and yup, those are tear tracks on his face – grip loosening on Yondu’s left hand as he scrubs his face. 

“Shit Yondu, sorry,” he mutters hoarsely, “I know you don’ like-“ the rest is cut off, as Yondu’s newly freed left arm lifts to curl itself around Peter’s head, tugging him into a blue shoulder. 

And Yondu just holds him there, even though it’s taking every scrap of energy he can muster. He feels Peter tense, and then release it in a shuddering sob and arms are coming – carefully – around him, and Yondu feels more at peace than he can ever remember being as he slips back into the healing darkness.


	3. Epilogue

_Several months later_

Yondu is long since recovered, but ever since he’d left the _Milano_ – something Peter had loudly protested at the time, but the M-ship was just not big enough for two captains – he and Peter have kept in touch.

Sometimes though, Peter needs to _see_ Yondu, and not some recording that was taken days or weeks ago. It’s usually after he or the crew has had a close call, although Peter hasn’t quite picked up on the pattern yet. 

The others have, but they don’t hassle him for it; Rocket will even come and wait with him sometimes while he’s sitting and watching the comm for Yondu to pick up. He never stays long, just until Yondu’s ugly blue mug shows on the screen and they exchange greetings disguised as insults. 

And then it’s just Peter and Yondu, and the Centaurian will regard him with knowing eyes and a raspy “What the hell kinda trouble you in now, boy?” and something in Peter eases as he brings his Dad up to date on whatever shit the Guardians have managed to get in to – and out of – since the last time. 

Of course, when Peter complains about Groot and his attitude Yondu just throws back his head and laughs so hard his fin lights up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rocket's blasters are a reference to the comic shown in this article https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rocket_Raccoon 
> 
> I also found this handy site when researching how to write someone dying in the vacuum of space http://www.realclearscience.com/blog/2012/08/how-would-you-die-in-outer-space.html 
> 
> The best piece of writing advice I ever received was from an English teacher (whose name I regretfully can no longer recall), who said sometimes you have to “murder your darlings” when it comes to writing. For those who haven’t heard this phrase, it basically means that sometimes there’s a part in whatever you’re writing (be it a single word or phrase or scene) that you absolutely love, but is in fact not working in the story and needs to be cut. This story perfectly exemplified that. This entire things sprouted from two sentences: one of which I kept (the first line of this story), and another that simply. Did. Not. Work. No matter how I tried, it just kept getting in the way. I finally accepted the inevitable, removed it, and things progressed nicely from there. Not to say that I scrapped it entirely, it’s just going to have to wait for another fic, haha!


End file.
